


Good Girls Don't

by RaeDMagdon



Series: My Girl [2]
Category: Avatar: Legend of Korra
Genre: Angry Sex, Biting, Depression, F/F, Fingering, Hurt/Comfort, Rough Sex, SMUTCATION, Scratching, asami has anger issues, korra helps her work them out in a healthier way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-07
Updated: 2017-08-07
Packaged: 2018-12-12 12:06:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11736708
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaeDMagdon/pseuds/RaeDMagdon
Summary: "Good girls don't get angry." Hiroshi had taught the lesson well. It was a pity, Asami thought, that she hadn’t been a very good student.





	Good Girls Don't

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt was "do you think korrasami would have angry sex? how would that work?"
> 
> Luckily for me, I was already working on something similar to this. It's a sequel to My Girl.
> 
> As always, my tumblr is @raedmagdon

_Good girls don’t get angry._

Asami remembered the first time she’d heard those words—from Hiroshi, at six years old. Her mother had died three months prior. She had cried at the funeral of course, mostly because of the pain carved deep into her father’s face, but she hadn’t yet understood the permanence of death.

Logically, she knew her mother wasn't coming back. Hiroshi had explained that to her in a halting voice, barely able to speak the words. But it hadn't felt like death until much later, when she had run away in the middle of a martial arts lesson with bruised knuckles and an ache her stomach that she couldn’t ignore.

She had burst into her father’s office, her face dripping with sweat and tears, furiously demanding to know why. Why did she have to practice for hours every day until her muscles ached? Why was her father always at work instead of at home with her? And why had the universe decided to take her mother away forever?

“It isn’t fair,” she’d shouted, slamming her tiny fists on his desk. “The bad men should have died. Not her!”

Hiroshi let her scream it out. He hadn’t interrupted her, and he hadn’t attempted comfort either. Only once the storm ended and Asami had fallen into an exhausted heap on the floor, arms wrapped protectively around her knees, did he come out from behind his desk.

“Good girls don’t get angry, Asami,” he’d told her, offering his hand. It had looked so large then, especially when it wrapped around hers. “They get up and work harder.”

As the years passed, after she proceeded to completely ignore his advice about managing her emotions, Asami had come to understand why he’d said it. Even after discovering her father’s hypocrisy—the rotted pit of resentment Hiroshi had been carrying around for over a decade—Asami had seen his reasoning. Anger was not a productive emotion. It wouldn’t bring back what she had lost, or help her achieve success, or protect her from what she feared most.

Anger is destruction. In spite of his own failure, or perhaps because of it, Hiroshi had known that better than anyone.

He had taught the lesson well. It was a pity, Asami thought, that she hadn’t been a very good student.

* * *

Asami slammed her fist into the punching bag, accepting the shockwave that shot up her arm. Force always had to go somewhere, physics had taught her. Energy was never static. She reminded herself to breathe slowly, then struck again—again—again. The bag swayed as it absorbed the blows, but its calm rocking motion was almost infuriating.

_‘No. It’s a bag. You’re not mad at a bag.’_

But she was angry, and that anger had to go somewhere. She swiveled on her right foot, extending her left for a spinning kick. It hit the fake leather with a loud slap, but the sound wasn’t satisfying enough. Asami clenched her teeth, pushing past the tingling pain in her muscles, tapping into the heat that came with it. She alternated her strikes, punching and kicking, going high and low at random. Still, the knife lodged in her chest wouldn’t budge.

Sometimes it was therapeutic, taking out her energy on an inanimate object. Today, the results were… disappointing.

Her next strike was her last. When one final punch didn’t do anything to ease the tight burn in her lungs or the pressure around her thudding heart, Asami stepped back, panting with exhaustion. No, not exhaustion. Exasperation. Twenty minutes of physical exercise wasn’t enough to tire her, but she’d been fighting for much longer than that. For weeks, and against the entire world, it seemed.

First of all, there was Varrick. _Always_  Varrick. Whenever the two of them actually started getting along, he would go and do something infuriating—like trying to sneak extra clauses into their contracts. Asami didn’t know why he bothered, since she always read every word of an agreement before signing her name. Either he thought she was stupid, or he was simply greedy, waiting for the day she skipped a line by accident. She’d sent the contract back to him by courier, no note, liberally covered in red ink. It had been that, or going to his office and actually breaking his wrist this time.

Then there was the satomobile. That was probably her fault. She should have done the repairs herself after Korra’s little fender-bender. But she’d been incredibly busy, and Korra had felt incredibly guilty, so she’d agreed to let one of Future Industries’ mechanics look it over instead, to save herself some time and allow Korra to contribute some of her personal money to the cost.

Apparently, even being the CEO of Future Industries, not to mention literally designing the car and its parts herself, wasn’t enough to convince some ‘experts’ that she knew what she was talking about. The look of shock followed by growing horror on the mechanic’s face as she quoted him the correct prices for all the parts he had overcharged her for—while claiming they were discounted, no less—hadn’t been nearly as funny as she’d pretended it was when telling the story later.

Maybe if he’d bothered to read the company newsletter, or even pick up a paper once in the past six years, he wouldn’t have made such stupid assumptions.

Not that she was thrilled with Republic City’s press at present, either. The United Daily News was currently on her shit-list thanks to the op-ed column they’d published last week. She’d choked on her tea when she saw the title screaming at her from the front page:  _‘Hiroshi Sato: Our City’s Most Hated Hero’._

She’d skimmed the article with growing indignation, clutching the sides of the paper tight enough to crimp them and stain her fingertips with ink. Technically, the reporter’s facts were all correct. But other facts—particularly the fact that Hiroshi had sacrificed his life to stop Kuvira—had been waved away, or outright omitted.

“It is worth noting,” the article had stated, “that the most well-known eyewitness account of Hiroshi Sato’s actions on the day of his death was provided by Asami Sato herself. Corroborating statements came from Avatar Korra, Ms. Sato’s partner, and Detective Mako, a close friend with whom Ms. Sato previously had a romantic relationship.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Korra had told her afterward, squeezing her shoulder in an attempt to offer comfort. “We know that reporter’s just looking for attention.”

Asami had shredded the paper and tossed it into the fire anyway. Watching the corners curl and blacken, inhaling the bitter smell of burning ink into her nose, hadn’t lanced the wound.

It had boiled over and festered, along with a hundred other things: a small downward tick in stock prices, Korra’s sleep schedule being a little off and disrupting hers… but the reason didn’t matter. There was just the rage she’d tried, and failed, to swallow down for everyone else’s sake—for Korra’s sake at the very least—only for it to slip through her fingers whenever she loosened her grip.

She launched another kick at the punching bag. The sole of her foot connected with a sharp smack, but she wasn’t focused. The responding force that raced up her leg only unbalanced her. She stumbled, only for a step, but it was enough. This wasn’t helping, so what was the point?

Asami stalked away from the mat, grabbing a thin towel from the back of a nearby chair. She didn’t slump down into it, but she did throw the towel around the back of her neck to soak up some of the sweat and grip the cold metal in her fingers. She clenched her toes in her shoes, staring at the white crescents of pressure that appeared on her nails as she pressed them into the unyielding aluminum. She should get a new manicure, but she didn’t have the patience, either to sit for one or to do it herself.

She wasn’t sure how long she stood there, limbs shaking, eyes blurred. In moments like this, she wished her depression would resurface. As painful as nothingness was, feelings could be far worse.

“Asami?”

At the sound of her name, Asami’s head jerked up. She sighed, tightened her stringy, damp ponytail—what she could fix, anyway—and let go of the chair. Korra. That could be either a good thing or a bad thing. It depended entirely on how Korra decided to deal with… this. Deal with her.

“In here,” Asami called, pulling the towel off her neck and tossing it onto the floor. She headed for the gym door, stretching out the cramps in her calves.

The sight that met her didn’t feed the flame of anger in her belly, but it was painful to see anyway. Korra’s wide grin, which might have been enough to make Asami smile back, fell the moment their eyes locked. “Bad day?” Korra asked, her voice soft, concerned.

Asami tensed. She knew it was well-meant, knew she probably needed it, but the worry in Korra’s voice made her bristle. _‘She shouldn’t need to baby me. I’m an adult. Adults get angry. They handle it.’_  Which only made the question she was trying not to think about louder:  _‘So why can’t I?’_

“Mmhmm,” was all she said in response to Korra.

That put a wrinkle right in the middle of Korra’s forehead. “Hey. You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want.”

Asami gave Korra a skeptical look. It wasn’t often they were like this: with Korra being the caretaker and her being the ‘patient’ in need of comforting. But on the rare occasions it happened, a little more often since they’d become a couple, Korra was anything but the hands-off type of emotional supporter.

“You mean I don’t have to talk about it for the next five minutes, until you start bugging me,” Asami said.

 _‘That’s not fair,’_ she told herself as soon as it slipped out. _'Korra doesn't deserve this. She's trying to help—’_

“Ugh, I’m sorry. I just…”

“Hey. It’s fine. But if you want some advice from a recovering hothead… well, I’ve got some.”

Asami pressed her lips together, tasting sweat and traces of hours-old lipstick. “Okay.”

Korra’s eyes drifted beyond her, to the chair she’d been hunched over before. “Sit.”

Sit. Fine. She could do that.

Asami headed for the chair and sat. Korra’s footsteps followed behind, transitioning from thud-to-swish as she moved from the wooden floor to the mat.

"What, exactly, are you doing?" Asami asked, bracing herself against the chair's stiff metal back.

Korra didn't answer. When Asami looked into her burning blue eyes, the heat within them forestalled any further questions. It was a familiar fire, but one that struck her as completely out of place. Moments ago, Korra's face had read sympathy, but that had dissolved into something else. Something harder, hotter. The shift was such a surprise that Asami skipped a breath.

"Only one way to deal with anger," Korra said, curling both hands around the top of the chair on either side of Asami shoulders. "Shoving it down doesn't work. You have to get it out, or it'll come out on its own."

Asami swallowed hard around her tongue. "I know. Ask Varrick about his wrist sometime."

Korra leaned closer, hovering near enough for Asami to feel the warmth of her breath. It was soft, but quick, and Asami knew that if she pressed her lips to the throbbing place tucked under Korra's jaw, she would find a racing pulse as well. "Do you trust me?" Korra asked, grabbing Asami's gaze and holding it. Although not even an inch of their skin touched, Asami felt as if her lover was holding her by the chin, forcing eye contact. The challenge only made the burn in her stomach worse.

 _‘Stop it,’_ Asami told herself.  _‘You aren't mad at Korra.’_ But even though that was true, it didn't really matter. Her anger had festered to the point where the target was irrelevant. "I don't know. Should I? The last time you got angry, you disappeared for three years."

She knew it was a mistake as soon as she said it. Anger hadn't driven Korra away. It had been fear, pain, and self loathing—all emotions Asami had ample experience with herself. But it was too late to take it back. She had been angry during those three long years, and since she was fed up with the rest of the world today, it felt all too natural to retreat to the familiar, wounded corner of her heart that had never quite healed. That would probably never heal completely.

"You know," Korra said, lips stiff around her teeth, "that was a shitty thing to say."

Asami wasn't sure which of them closed the gap first. All she knew was Korra's lips on hers: harsh, demanding, punishing. Without even taking a second to process, Asami kissed back, fighting against the pressure of Korra's tongue. It felt frighteningly good to be kissed this way, with fury instead of pity, frustration instead of tenderness. At last, the poison within her was draining, and she poured all she could into the bite she delivered to Korra's bottom lip.

Korra bit back. The kiss was a clash of teeth, and Asami growled into it, seizing Korra’s shoulders in her hands. She dug her nails in, enjoying the hiss she earned as she scratched down the flexing muscles of Korra’s arms. Not to be outdone, Korra grabbed the back of her head, pulling her ponytail until their mouths finally broke. “Take off your pants.”

Asami was not in any frame of mind to obey instructions. She tugged Korra’s shirt instead, pulling it up and off. Korra allowed it, but as soon as it was gone, her teeth sank into Asami’s neck, delivering a punishing bite.

“Pants,” she repeated, releasing the spot with a soft pop only to suck it again.

Asami ignored her. She was focused on raking her nails along Korra’s sides, through the grooves of her ribcage, moving up to grope her breasts. Korra’s nipples were hard in her palms, and got harder when she squeezed. The stiff points were thick and easy to twist, and when she did, Korra yelped.

With a sudden rush of air, Asami found herself out of the chair and on her back. Korra’s knees pressed in around her hips, and from this position, Asami could see the clear outline of her abdominal muscles. Asami’s mouth ached with longing for sweat. She propped herself up, running her flat tongue along the landscape of Korra’s stomach, but Korra didn’t allow it. “How long are you going to fight?” she asked, pinning Asami’s shoulders flat against the mat with both hands.

Asami breathed heavily through her nose. It wasn’t supposed to go this way, with Korra sitting on top of her, gloating down at her. She locked her legs around Korra’s waist, flipping the two of them over.

Korra hit the mat with a thud. Before she could recover, Asami surged in for another kiss. It was hot and hard and bitter, and its bruising force was almost a relief. Hurting felt good. It was just about the only thing that had in weeks.

Her distraction, however, meant she was vulnerable. Korra shoved a hand between their bodies, flipping open the button on Asami’s pants and pulling them down to mid-thigh.

Asami stiffened. After all this, Korra had gotten her way from the bottom. She bent down, sinking her teeth into the side of Korra’s breast. When Korra gasped, Asami felt a wave of satisfaction. This was helping in a way punching the bag hadn’t, and later, she knew, she would owe Korra the biggest thank-you in the world.

Korra’s grip returned to Asami’s hair, pulling her away from the fresh red mark. Asami expected Korra to glare at her, maybe push her off, but Korra merely redirected her attention. She arched, pressing the peak of her breast against Asami’s lips. Asami drew it in, sucking hard and tugging with her teeth.

“Don’t stop,” Korra panted, scratching Asami’s scalp. “Just let it burn.”

Asami wasn’t just burning. She was an inferno, a being of pure emotion—a state she almost never allowed herself to enter. It wasn’t fair. Wasn’t fair the way Korra’s fingers made her shudder as they slid into her underwear and found her clit. Wasn’t fair when, after a few circles, they shoved inside with absolutely no resistance on her part. Wasn’t fair that Korra knew how to find that special spot, the one that made her see stars.

This wasn’t over. She wouldn’t let it be over. She released Korra’s nipple from her mouth and pumped her hips, taking Korra’s fingers as deep as she could. Korra might be fucking her, but she would control the rhythm if it killed her.

Surprisingly, Korra allowed it. When she started thrusting, the strokes were fast and rough, but they lined up with the sharp jerks of Asami’s pelvis. Asami drew ragged breaths. Fresh sweat rolled down her back and between her breasts, and her thighs had already started trembling from both arousal and exhaustion. She ignored the strain, bucking forward to catch her clit against the heel of Korra’s hand.

Korra pushed up, using her hips to add extra force. “Tell me if it hurts,” she said, the only gentleness she had shown since their first kiss.

Asami glared down at her. She wanted it to hurt. She didn’t want to be able to walk after this was over, and if she didn’t leave the same ache between Korra’s thighs, she would consider this session a failure.

“Korra,” she spat, with all the bile she’d spent weeks holding back, “I want you to destroy me.”

She got her wish when Korra slammed inside her, picking up an even rougher pace. It made the world around her swim, but Asami recovered quickly. She couldn’t stop the moans each thrust drove out of her, but she could still move her hand—maybe not well, but that didn’t matter. She still had enough coordination to shove between their crashing pelvises and find Korra’s heat.

Wetness flooded over her fingers and into her palm. Asami had been expecting it, but she groaned anyway. Korra was already slick for her, because of her. She hooked in, pushing forward as Korra pulled back, timing her thrusts with the rhythm of her rolling hips.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise that she came first. Korra had been fucking her longer, and her defenses were already weak. Even so, the shockwave took her by surprise. It seized her entire body, making her tense so hard it hurt, until the painful clenching bled out of her in ripples. She quaked in the grip of her peak, eyes screwed shut, teeth breaking open her bottom lip. Korra’s lips caught hers again, sharing the taste of copper and fury, and Asami screamed into them, spilling cries until her throat burned.

In the midst of her shudders, Korra stopped thrusting and started pressing. A lance of pleasure-pain shot through Asami’s belly, and her muffled shouts became a sharp wail. The pressure inside her burst, and she flooded Korra’s palm, unable to keep moving her own fingers as she rocked with the force of her release. She had no choice but to ride it out.

Asami fell as fast as she’d risen. Her orgasm ended abruptly, her muscles twitching weakly around Korra’s fingers. The room spun a moment longer, but with a few gulps of air, Asami recovered. She dismounted, letting Korra’s fingers slip out of her and stretching over the length of her lover’s body.

“I’ll stop if you want,” she said. “You don’t have to do this for me.”

“I don’t have to,” Korra said, gazing up into her eyes. “But I want to. Show me what you’ve got, Sato.”

Asami’s shoulders relaxed for the first time in what felt like years. “Okay.” She drove her fingers forward, relishing the cry that exploded from Korra’s chest.

Without the distraction of Korra’s hand between her own legs, she could focus entirely on fucking. She gave it all she had, putting her rage and frustration into her forearm, into Korra. There was so much emotion inside her, too much to hold anymore, and having a vessel to take some of it made her eyes well with tears. Korra rarely bottomed for her. Asami didn’t ask often. But in this moment, she needed it fiercely.

Asami didn’t try to string it out. Didn’t try to make it last. She just wanted Korra to come for her. Wanted the clench of hot muscle around her fingers and slickness spurting into her hand. She pumped in search of both, driving in and out with every ounce of her strength. Nothing stopped her, not the violent wrenching of her shoulder, not the fire in her forearm, and not Korra’s panting cries.

A little more. Just a little more. Asami bit down on Korra’s shoulder, hoping that would end it—and it did. Korra’s body bowed beneath hers, shivering so violently that Asami had to pin down her to keep her still. The tightness squeezing down and the rush of fluid were exactly what Asami had hoped for. Something she couldn’t quite describe shifted within her, a redirecting of energy, like fresh blood rushing to numb, unused limbs.

Asami slowed down for the rest of Korra’s orgasm. Her strokes still hit deep, but they weren’t meant to hurt. She curled her fingers, coaxing out everything Korra had to give. When her voice returned, there was only one word on her lips. “Korra…”

The soothing blue of Korra’s eyes stared up at her, hazy with lust and affection. She was still breathing heavily, but she had a weak grin on her face. “Get it all out, did you?” she asked, lips trembling a little.

Asami slumped down on top of Korra’s sweating body. She searched inside herself, but all she found was emptiness. It frightened her, and she stiffened as Korra’s arms came up to wrap around her.

“Hey,” Korra mumbled, pressing a kiss to her temple. “It’s okay. You can cry.”

Asami hadn’t realized she was crying until Korra said so. She was sniffling into the crook of Korra’s neck, wetting her lover’s skin with tears. Once she noticed, the floodgates opened. She sobbed, her back heaving under Korra’s soothing palms. “I… I’m sorry,” she croaked, although she doubted Korra could fully understand her. “I shouldn’t have… shouldn’t have…”

“Asami. Everything you said in the past twenty minutes? Forgotten. That wasn’t you.”

But it was. Anger was a part of her—a part of herself she hated, but a part nonetheless. It always had been, and always would be. “I’m sorry,” she said again, dripping more tears onto Korra’s shoulder. “I was… awful. To you. And—and you didn’t do anything. You just…”

“I know,” Korra said. Gradually, Asami noticed the sound of her own sobs fading, replaced by the soft whisper of Korra’s breath. “Asami, do you have any idea how much you’ve been through the past couple of years? Your dad was a traitor. You lost your company. Mako dumped you twice—”

“You had to bring that up,” Asami said with a painful laugh.

“Then you fell the rest of the way in love with me, and watched me almost die. And after that, I left you high and dry. And then Kuvira destroyed half your home and… well. She took your dad away. I know how hard that was for you.”

Asami sucked in a couple more shaking breaths. “The paper… that stupid article. It’s putting salt in the wound and I don’t know how to… I can’t…”

“That article doesn’t change anything,” Korra said, her voice firm and resolute. “You know what happened. You know what kind of man he was. And I know what happened, and Mako and Bolin, and Chief Beifong, and all the rest of us. We know the truth.”

A deep sigh escaped Asami’s lips. “He wasn’t perfect. I know that. He… well. He’s part of the reason I’m… like this. No, that’s stupid. I’m the reason I’m like this. Me.”

“So be angry sometimes,” Korra said. “Just don’t let it swell up like a balloon until it pops. You put everyone else first until your heart starts screaming for a break, and then you blow your lid. You don’t have to do that. We all love you. We want you to put yourself first, okay?”

Something stirred within Asami’s chest. It was small at first, only a flicker, but as Korra’s words sank in, it began to glow. More tears leaked from her eyes, but this time, her sobs were a release. An entire mountain had been lifted off her, and she felt so light she thought she might float away if Korra wasn’t holding her.

“Okay.”

“You don’t have to do it alone,” Korra told her, stroking back a loose strand of her hair. “We’ll help. I’ll help. I’ll make you take care of yourself whether you want to or not.”

Asami laughed. Spirits, she couldn’t remember the last time she’d done that, at least genuinely. She pressed a grateful kiss against the mark she’d left on Korra’s shoulder. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

When her tears dried, Asami didn’t feel empty anymore. Her anger was gone, and Korra had filled her up with love instead.


End file.
